


A Little Bit

by Frumpologist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Developing Friendships, M/M, Mention of torture in passing, Platform 9 3/4, Post-War, love at second sight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28935309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: Why had he thought this would be a good idea?
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 13
Kudos: 59
Collections: Love at Second Sight, Rare Pairs RHM Read for LoveFest





	A Little Bit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for For the Love of Fest’s ‘Love at Second Sight’ mini-fest. My prompt was Kings Cross Station. Thank you, QuinTalon for putting this awesome fest together! <3

Platform Nine and Three Quarters bustled with the type of erratic energy one would expect at a Weird Sisters concert, or perhaps at Flourish & Blotts when an autobiography of the Golden Trio was released. But the train station hosted neither of those things. Instead, the excitement buzzed through the smoky air as tender children untouched by war skipped and ran from carriage to carriage in search of their friends.

That same energy somehow missed Neville Longbottom.

He stood awkwardly with his large hand glued to the back of his neck, tugging at the skin as if it would alleviate the mounting stress tightening his shoulders. Heading back to Hogwarts after a decade of avoiding it came with a debilitating mixture of nerves and hesitancy. While he hadn’t been there physically over the years, his mind often traveled there unwittingly.

The scent of singed hair and ash was still fresh. Explosions still as loud, as if he stood beside the blasts of magic tearing apart the stone walls. Cackling laughter from hooded figures coated his stomach in bubbling acid.

It had been a decade since the war, but it felt as if it were just yesterday. Fresh waves of pain coated his stomach with guilt and heartbreaking sadness.

Why had he thought this would be a good idea?

When Professor Sprout agreed to take him on as her Herbology Apprentice, Neville accepted with joyous excitement. He penned a resignation letter to his employer and spent an entire week packing up his modest flat in Diagon Alley. With Trevor fit snugly in a ventilated shoebox, he stole off to the Platform.

But now, facing the Hogwarts Express paralyzed him. Shoebox tucked under his arm, black trunk sitting at his feet, Neville’s shallow breathing stuck in his throat. He couldn’t possibly do this, could he?

No, he’d made a grave mistake. A school boy error. The hope that Hogwarts would be what it was, and not what it had come to be. Nothing—not psychotherapy nor willful ignorance—could take away the remembrance of bruises and deep cuts, of torture, of fear. It hibernated too deep inside him.

A gust of thick smoke filled the platform, shielding Neville’s view of the professors’ carriage. The train’s whistle resounded. Calling to him, as if to say “all aboard.”

Neville stood frozen, inhaling the smoke as it surrounded him. From seemingly nowhere, a tall figure approached. It had familiar stark edges, a profile he’d spent too long committing to memory. As if from the fog of his nightmares, Draco Malfoy moved toward him with slow, purposeful steps.

The hand tugging at his neck dropped uselessly at his side. Breath caught, eyes manic as they traced Draco from dragonhide boot to aristocratic pompadour hair. He lingered on the downward tug of his lips, the way they seemed to be stuck since first year.

For all of Neville’s gawking, Draco appeared to look everywhere else. But there was nothing to see in the fog, which forced Neville to the conclusion that his antagonist was floundering just as hard as him.

Brash, stupid Gryffindor courage seized Neville’s brain, overtaking the cautious nature he’d tried to nurture. He stuck out a hand and forced a small, barely-there smile.

“Draco,” he said, lacing as much authority as possible into his tone. He could be strong for this. “Been a while. It’s uh—nice to see you.”

There wasn’t a person alive who could outmatch the expressive way Draco arched a solitary brow as he clasped Neville’s hand. Strong. Sure. Curious. “Longbottom. Almost didn’t recognize you.”

He made a show of looking Neville up and down, lingering over the parts of him that were once rounder. A blush crawled up Neville’s neck and splattered over his cheeks.

“Lucky for us I’d recognize you anywhere then.”

A beat passed. Their hands still clasped. Dots of perspiration prickled Neville’s neck. He wasn’t sure what to do next, but something in the back of his mind reminded him that he was still holding hands with Draco Malfoy. Still, he couldn’t force his hand away.

Finally, Draco spoke. Tight, throaty.

“Indeed.” Draco pulled his soft hand away and to Neville’s surprise, didn’t swipe away the blood traitor sweat that must have clung to it. “So, I assume you’ve taken the apprenticeship with Professor Sprout?” At Neville’s surprised nod—how had he known?—Draco lifted his chin. “I’m with Pomphrey for the term.”

It never occurred to Neville how much healing suited Draco. But he knew the precision required, the broad knowledge necessary, and a penchant for Occlumency to avoid endearing oneself to patients. Neville’s eyes flickered over Draco’s pointed features and the tightness at the corner of his eyes. There was a thrum of anxiety in the air that didn’t completely belong to Neville.

Something came over him. The need to soothe, to remind Draco that he deserved to be there.

“Want to get a drink?” he asked, tilting his head toward the platform barrier.

“The train leaves in three minutes,” Draco said, lifting a perfectly shaped brow.

Shrugging, Neville unfurled a conspiratorial smile. “We’re not students. We can Apparate to Hogsmeade faster than the train ride will get us there. It's kind of a waste of time to sit on that train, don’t you think?”

Draco studied him in silence. The mania of the station was muted, like they were standing in their own little bubble. He waited, deciding even if Draco declined, Neville was going to get a drink regardless. Steady his nerves. Pretend he’d never invited Draco sodding Malfoy for a drink. Ignore the spark of hope kindling behind his sternum. To have a friend, someone to confide in, a mate who  _ understood _ .

“This doesn’t mean we’re mates,” Draco said, then turned on his heel and marched out of the fog toward the barrier.

  
“It does mean we’re mates,” Neville said, and without hesitation, his quick strides shadowed Draco. Trevor jostled in his arms as a smile threatened to unfold. “At least a little bit.”

As Draco stepped aside and allowed Neville to pass through the barrier ahead of him, he couldn’t hide his lopsided smirk. “A little bit, and no more, Longbottom.”

Somehow, Neville wasn’t so sure they’d stick to that rule. And, what’s more, he wasn’t sure he wanted to try.


End file.
